Warning: This is a long one! Hah.
“You should always have both your feet planted firmly on the ground and keep your head out of the clouds.” It’s a saying that always confuses me (or is that two of them? Hmmm. Whatever).
First of all, I’ve got two feet and excellent balance, thank you very much, and if I want to stand on one foot like the a stork, or something, that is my prerogative, always.
I know, it’s not meant literally, but neither is my response. Hah.
As for keeping my head out of the clouds…whatever for? Some variety can make life in general a whole lot more interesting. If you don’t poke your head into the proverbial clouds every once in a while, you miss out on a lot, to my way of thinking.
Well, that thought over and done with on to the day:
We’ll skip the morning rituals, shall we? It wasn’t any different than usual–pick a random one from previous days and you’ll get the general idea, hah–and move on to switching on the computer this morning.
This doesn’t happen until after I arrive at the house with the pack, of course, but it was a slow day when it concerns the “writing buzz”. I really can’t focus on edits today, and can’t explain why. My head is on different tangents I suppose, so instead I set to the written interview I agreed to do for a reviewer who’s agreed to read and give his opinion on the “W.I. Investigations” in the near future.
I’ve mentioned it before, I think, and though there are only five questions, I wanted to give it the attention it deserved, so seeing as edits were out of the question anyway, I figured I might as well do something useful and be as specific as I possibly can without getting tedious.
I gotta admit that answering these types of questions is a lot harder than answering those of readers. With readers I prefer to be looser, and elaborate, allowing my own enthusiasm about the stories to shine through. With an interview I figure I need to be a little more formal and to the point. Enthusiastic, of course, but not too much so, if that makes any sense?
I do like the fact that one of the questions allows me to explain what I’ve always tried to do with the W.I. Investigations, and since this particular Blog is my personal little world anyway, I guess I can outline it here as well.
You see, the W.I.’s are written in a slightly different tone and style than an average book. I’ve applied–or tried to–set a scene much like a movie or a TV show would. Basic actions and reactions described in graphic detail. With their creation (the W.I.’s) I aimed to bring literature and cinematography closer together, setting the words in such a fluid, or liquid, way that it creates the scenes inside the readers head like a motion picture, rather than leaving it up to the imagination.
From those who’ve read them I have received a multitude of responses that confirm that the technique was successful, but of course I am curious as to what this reviewer is going to say once he’s read the cases of Walsh International.
I wonder if he manages to grasp what I tried to convey; whether he will find the writing style peculiar or if it brings the images into his head the way they are supposed to. I suppose that it requires a certain flexibility in a reader’s mind to be able to shift the reading focus in such a way that the effect becomes apparent. And, one definitely has to be a movie lover to be fully able to appreciate it.
In that regard the W.I.s are a risky experiment to say the least. It is always a matter of whether or not the reader can experience it the way it was intended, or if that reader just gets annoyed with out of the ordinary writing. Hah.
Only time will tell in the end, I guess. I’ve decided to just put it aside for the time being and see when the time’s arrived to read his opinion.
But anyways, I manage to answer most of the questions during the morning session, and decide to leave the fine-tuning for later today when I shut the computer down and head outside to see what we can do in the yard today.
There is a big pile of rocks that still need to be carried to the others that have already been gathered, so while big brother is once again working on the upper fences…Tadayka and Prame, the young monstrosities broke through them again…I pull on my working gloves and start hauling rocks from one place to another.
It is going rather well. The sun is shining, and the temperature is so wonderfully warm that I’m slowly divesting layers of clothes until I finally decide to go to my cabin to change into a sleeveless top. A true spring day; can it get any better?
Not a good thought to have while I’m carrying a forty pound rock down the uneven path and bend down to lay it on the ground in its new spot, I admit.
I’m about to lay it in place, dropping it the last couple of inches and keeping my hands carefully on the top when I let gravity do its thing. The stupid thing bounces a little, which would have been fine if my index finger hadn’t been aiming straight down and got knocked back with the momentum the bounce caused.
Ouch! It feels just like when Knight II rammed straight through my knee and dislocated it.
I swear colorfully under my breath, alternating between cradling the pained limb in my other gloved hand and holding it high over my head. Neither position feels at all comfortable and once the pain has receded into a dull throb I peel off my glove to inspect the damage.
The digit is already swelling and feels sort of numb by the time little sister arrives and starts helping me with the remainder of the rocks. My progress is decidedly slower than it was before but when little brother appears as well, he can take care of the heavier stones that I really don’t wanna lift at that particular time.
Once we’re done, little brother climbs on the roof to tackle the large mimosa trees that surround the house. The massive storm last October did a lot of damage there too, and while he is sawing away at the broken branches he can reach, I head into the house to exit through the pantry door.
It is in today’s plan that we’re going to tackle the overgrown stairs that lead down into the yard from the back, and then go down to the old septic tank for a much needed cleaning. It takes me only a few minutes to figure out that it is going to be quite impossible to get to the stairs from this side, so with that to report, I head back out to where the sibs are still working.
Once I’ve informed big brother–he’s lugging dog food to the carport at this time–of what I’ve discovered, I spent some time hauling the heavy branches off the roof and dragging them to the main path. Little brother, who has reached the limit of his reach on the trees by then, says that he will bring them to the old pool for the next bonfire we’re going to need to light up in the near future, before the hot season arrives.
Seeing that there are a lot of dead branches still dangling down, I take the long saw with me, and head up to the gate so I can check if I can get to them from outside the fence…it’s a level higher. Since the branches are still to high, big brother joins me at that time and actually climbs the trees to do the task.
Within an hour we get most of it done and I head back to the gate. Underway I find the corpse of the white cat that risked entering my cabin a week or so ago. Regretfully it didn’t survive its folly and suffered the consequences. Shaking my head sadly, I return to the carport to share the discovery and then promptly continue down to the septic tank.
It’s been years since we checked it, and for more than an hour we hack through a jungle of reed and weeds until we can finally estimate what needs to be done. There’s a lot of mud…and stuff I really don’t want to name. It smelled pungent, however…to remove and I get to it while big brother starts to examine what needs to be done to the tank to get it in proper working order again.
After I’ve done all I can to clear the top and the stairs leading up to the house, little sister and our friend Danni (she’s joined in on the day’s “fun”) help me fix the reed covered fence. Support beams need to be replaced, and after taking out a quartet of wrist-thick reeds from the massive amount that surrounds the tank, I need to find a way to actually get to it.
Armed with gloves, metal wires and pliers I do a rather risky descend on the steep incline on which the fence is fastened. Mud cakes the steep ground, and it takes me quite some time to find enough purchase to actually be able to do something. I do a couple of impressive slides, a near split, but finally manage it.
So, with middle sister–she’s finished hauling more debris to the old pool–wedged precariously on the edge of the tank and leaning over the abyss to keep the new support in place, I take up position on the other side.
Once I’m settled appropriately, one foot stretched out across as well while my back keeps the majority of the fence straight, little sister uses my booted foot as a step up onto the concrete foundation of the pole. Once she’s there, ready to start wrapping wires around the supports, I lock my arm behind her back to keep her in place.
Danni, who’s using a shovel to help hold the weight of the fence, squeals suddenly and almost tumbles right into the gap over which I’m balancing. The shovel has gone straight through the top part, making her lose her balance. Luckily, no harm done, just silly laughter now that fatigue is starting to set in.
Quickly little sister finishes up wrapping the wire around the supports, allowing me to release, and then help her back to safety. Now comes the “fun” part. I need to get farther down to the other end of the support, and literally slip slide my way to it on smelly goo. Hah.
In the end, we succeed however. And just in time, too, since grandpa attempts to pass through one of the gates when most of the dogs are up there trying to get to us. A chorus of victorious howls fills the air just when we step away from the repaired fence.
Whew.
Since all the repairs took so much time we decide to call it a day by then, especially since dusk is rapidly approaching and head into the house where mom has dinner waiting for us.
The first thing I do when arriving at the house is wash up and stick my throbbing finger under the cold water. The digit is still swollen and gratefully little sister gets the tube of Arnica gel so I can wrap it up properly for the duration of dinner. Once we’ve all caught our breaths, and watched “The Mentalist”, it’s time to resume the task of the interview.
I remove the bandage and examine my finger closely. It is rather weird. The upper two knuckles are completely numb and when I try–time and again–to move them, they refuse to follow the instruction my brain is giving. We debate for a moment whether or not it might be broken, but the swelling along with the bluish color on the inside, give us the impression that it is stunned and bruised more than anything. In the end we decide to wait and see. If it isn’t any better by tomorrow, a quick doctor’s visit might be in order.
A couple of hours after ceasing today’s yard work, big brother and I review the interview, make a few quick alterations and send it off with the requested headshot and book cover picture.
By this time I’m more than ready to call it a day and head up to my cabin for the usual evening rituals.
As is usual with injuries, I slam my finger into inane objects on several occasions, but it’s a good thing in the end. There’s a slight popping sound, and a firm stab of pain, and yes, the knuckles respond again. Whatever caused the numbness appears to be over. Yay.
A good eventful day, in my estimation. Those are the best in the end!
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